CHAPTER XVI
You may not believe this next incident. I know I did not, when Casey toldme about it,--but now I am not so sure. Casey said that the light appearedagain, that night, moving slowly along the lip of the canyon like a manwith a large lantern. There was a full moon, which had made him decide totravel at night on account of the heat while the sun was up. But the moondid not reveal the cause of the light, though the canyon crest was plainlyvisible to him.
William swung away from that light and walked rather briskly in the otherdirection, and Casey did not argue with him. So they headed almost duewest and kept going. It seemed to Casey once or twice that the lightfollowed them; but he could not be sure.
Two full nights he journeyed, and on both nights he had the light behindhim. Once it came up swiftly to within a mile or so of him and William,and stopped there for awhile and then disappeared. Casey camped ratherearly and slept, and took the trail again in the morning. Night travel wasgetting on his nerves.
All that day he walked and toward evening, with thunder heads piling highabove the Tippipahs, he came upon a small herd of Indian ponies feedingout from the mouth of a wide gulch. He knew they were Indian ponies bytheir size, their variegated colors, and their general unkemptness. Theypresently spied him and went galloping off up the gulch, and Caseyfollowed until he spied a thin bluish ribbon of smoke wavering up towardthe slate-black clouds.
He made camp just out of sight around a point of rocks from the smoke,stretching the canvas tarp which had floored the tent to make shelterbetween boulders. He changed his clothes, dressing himself carefully inthe white flannel trousers, blue-and-green striped silk shirt, tan belt,white shoes and his old Stetson tilted over his right eye at thecharacteristic Casey angle. He was taking it for granted that an Indiancamp lay under that smoke, and he knew Indians. Inquisitiveness would shutthem up as effectively as poking a stick at a clam; but there were ways ofcoaxing their interest, nevertheless, and when an Indian is curious youhave the trumps in your own hand and it will be your own fault if youlose.
Casey's manner therefore was extremely preoccupied when he led a suddenlylimping William up the gulch and past a stone hut with a patched tepeealongside it. A lean squaw stood erect before the tepee and regarded himfixedly from under the shade of a mahogany-colored hand, and when Caseycame closer she stooped and ducked out of sight like a prairie dog divinginto its burrow. Casey paid no attention to that. He knew without beingtold that he was under close scrutiny from eyes unseen; which was what hedesired and had prepared for.
The spring, as he had guessed, was above the camp. He threw a rock at twoyammering curs that rushed out at him, and drove them back with Caseyishcurses. Then he watered William at the trampled spring, made himself asmoke, and went back down the gulch. Opposite the tepee the squaw stoodbeside the trial. Casey grinned amiably and said hello.
"Yo' ketchum 'bacco? My man, him heap sick. Mebby die. Likeum 'bacco,him." The squaw muttered it as if she would rather not speak, but had beencommanded to beg tobacco from the stranger.
"Sure, I got tobacco!" Casey's tone was a bit more friendly than before.He pulled a small red can from his shirt pocket, hesitated and then tiedWilliam to a bush. "Too bad your man sick. Mebby I can help him. He inhere?"
The squaw gestured dumbly, and Casey stooped and went into the tepee.
Inside it was so dark that he stood still just within the opening to gethis bearings. This happened to be very good form in Indian society, and wewill assume that Casey lost nothing by the pause. He dimly saw that a fewblankets lay untidily against the tepee wall and that an old Indian wasstretched upon them, watching Casey with one black eye, the other lidlying in sunken folds across the socket. Casey was for once in his lifespeechless. He had not expected to walk straight into the camp of InjunJim. He had thought that of course he would have to go on to Round Butteand glean information there, perhaps; if he were exceptionally lucky hewould meet Indians who would tell him what he wanted to know. But here wasa one-eyed buck, and he was old, and he lived in the Tippipahs,--Injun Jimby all description.
"Your squaw says you want tobacco." Casey advanced and held out the redcan. He knew better than to waste words, especially in the beginning.Indians are peculiar; you must approach them by not seeming to approach atall.
The old fellow grunted and turned the can over and over in clawlike hands,and said he wanted a match and a paper. Casey went farther; he rolled acigarette and gave it to him and then rolled one for himself. They smoked,there in that unsavoury tepee, saying nothing at all. Casey had achievedthe first part of his dream; he was making friends with Injun Jim.
Later he went down to his own camp, leading William. It was hard to waitand watch for the proper moment to broach the subject that filled hismind, and then induce the old Indian to talk. Casey was beginning tounderstand why no one had wormed the secret from Jim. When you arehundreds of miles and many months distant from a problem, it is easy todecide that you will do so and so, and handle the matter differently fromthe bungling men you have heard about. To find Injun Jim and get him totell where his gold mine was had seemed fairly easy to Casey when he wasdriving stage elsewhere, and could only think about it. But when hesat on his haunches in the tepee, smoking with Injun Jim and conversingintermittently of such vital things as the prospect of rain that night,and the enforced delay in his journey because his pack mule was lame,speaking of gold mines in a properly disinterested and casual manner wasnot at all easy.
However, Casey ate a very hearty supper and went to bed studying theproblem of somehow winning the old fellow's gratitude. Morning did notbring a solution, as it properly should have done, but he ransacked hispack, chose a small glass jar of blackberry jam and a little can of maplesyrup, fortified himself with another red can of tobacco and went up tothe camp, hoping for a streak of good luck. As for medicine, he hadn't adrop, and if he had he did not know for certain what ailed Injun Jim. Hethought it was just old age and general cussedness.
Injun Jim ate the jam, using a deadly looking knife and later his fingers,when the jam got low in the jar. When he had finished that he opened thecan and drank the maple syrup just as he would have drunk whisky,--with arelish. He smoked Casey's tobacco in the stone pipe which the squawbrought him and appeared fairly well satisfied with life. But he did nottalk much, and what he did say was of no importance whatever. Not once didhe mention gold mines.
Casey went back to camp and swore at William as he counted his cans ofluxuries. He did not realize that he had established a dangerousprecedent, but when he led William up to water, meaning to pass by thecamp without stopping, the squaw halted him on his way back and told himbriefly that her man wanted him.
Injun Jim did not want Casey; he wanted more jam. Casey went back to campand got another can, this time of strawberry, and in a spirit ofpeevishness added a small tin of the liver paste that had caused him anight's discomfort. He took them to the tepee, and Injun Jim ate thecomplete contents of both cans and seemed disgruntled afterwards; so muchso that he would not talk at all but smoked in brooding silence, staringwith his one malevolent eye at the stained wall of the tepee.
An hour later he began to move himself restlessly in the blanket and tomutter Piute words, the full meaning of which Casey did not grasp. But hewould not answer when he was spoken to, so Casey went back to his camp.And that night Injun Jim was very sick.
Next day however he was sufficiently recovered to want more jam. Caseyfilled his pockets with small cans and doled them out one by one andgossipped artfully while he watched Injun Jim eat pickles, India relishand jelly with absolute, inscrutable impartiality. Casey felt sympatheticqualms in his own stomach just from watching the performance, but he wastalking for a gold mine and he did not stop.
"You know Willow Pete?" he asked garrulously. "Big, tall man. Drinkswhisky all the time. Willow Pete found a gold mine two moons ago. He'srich now. Got a big barrel of whisky. Got silk shirts like this--" heplucked at his own silken sleeve "--got lots of jam all the time. E
veryday drinks whisky and eats jam."
"Hunh!" Injun Jim ran his forefinger dexterously around the inside of ajelly glass and licked the finger with the nonchalance of a two-year-old."Hunh. Got heap big gol' mine, me. No can go ketchum two year, mebby. Idunno. Feet no damn good for walk. Back no damn good for ride. No ketchumgol' long time now."
Casey took a chew of tobacco. This was getting to the point he had beenaiming for, and he needed his wits working at top speed.
"Well, if you got a gold mine, you can eat jam all the time. Drink whisky,too," he added, hushing his conscience peremptorily. "If you've got awhite man that's your friend, he might take your gold to town and buywhisky and jam."
Injun Jim considered, his finger searching for more jelly. "White man nogood for Injun, mebby. I dunno. Ketchum gol', mebby no givum. Tell allwhite mans. Heap mans come. White man horses eat grass. Drink all water.Shootum deer, shootum rabbit, shootum all damn time. Make big house. Heapnoise all time. No place for Injuns no more. No good."
"White man not all same, Jim. One white man maybe good friend. Help getgold, give you half. You buy lots of jam, lots of whisky, lots of silkshirts, have good time." Casey looked at him straight. He could do it,because he meant what he said; even the whisky, I regret to say.
Injun Jim accepted a cigarette and smoked it, saying never a word. Caseysmoked the mate to it and waited, trying to hide how his fingers trembled.Injun Jim turned himself painfully on the blankets and regarded Caseysteadily with his one suspicious eye. Casey met the look squarely.
"You got more shirt?" Jim's finger pointed at the blue and green stripes."Yo' got more jam? You bringum. Heap sick, me, mebby die. Me no takeumgol' me die. No wantum, me die. Yo' mebby good man. I dunno. Me ketchumheap jam, ketchum heap silk shirt, ketchum heap 'bacco, heap whisky, mebbyme tellum you where ketchum gol' mine. Me die, yo' heap rich--"
He turned suddenly, lifted his right arm and sent his knife swishingthrough the air. It sliced its way through the tepee wall and hung therequivering, Caught by the hilt. Injun Jim called out vicious, Piute words."Hahnaga!" he commanded fiercely. "Hahnaga!"
The lean old squaw came meekly, stood just within the tepee while her lordspat words at her. She answered apathetically in Piute and backed out.Presently she returned, driving before her a young squaw whom Casey hadnot before seen. The young squaw was holding a hand upon her other arm,and Casey saw blood between her fingers. The young squaw was notparticularly meek. She stood there sullenly while Injun Jim berated her inthe Indian tongue, and once she muttered a retort that made the old man'sfingers go groping over the blankets for a weapon; whereat the young squawlaughed contemptuously and went out, sending Casey a side glance and afleeting smile as full of coquetry as ever white woman could employ.
The interruption silenced the old buck upon the subject of gold. Casey satthere and chewed tobacco and waited, schooling his impatience as best hecould. Injun Jim muttered in Piute, or lay with his one eye closed. ButCasey knew that he did not sleep; his thin lips were drawn too tense forslumber. So he waited.
Injun Jim opened his eye suddenly, looked all around the tepee and thenstared fixedly at Casey. "Young squaw no good. Heap much white talk.Stealum gol' mine, mebby. I dunno." He gestured for his knife, and Caseygot it for him. Injun Jim fondled it evilly.
"Bimeby killum. Mebby. I dunno. Yo' ketchum jam, ketchum shirt--how manyjam yo' ketchum?"
Casey meditated awhile. He had not planned an exclusive jam diet for InjunJim, therefore his supply was getting low. But at the tenderfoot camp wasmuch more, enough to last Injun Jim to the border of the happy huntinggrounds,--if he did not loiter too long upon the way. There was no tellinghow long Injun Jim would be able to eat jam, but Casey was a good gambler.
"If I go get a lot more, and get silk shirts--six," he counted with hisfingers, "you tell me where your gold mine is."
"Yo' bringum heap jam, bringum shirt. Me tellum." His one eye was bright."Yo' bringum jam. Yo' bringum shirt. Yol giveum me." He patted the baredirt beside the blankets, signifying that he wanted the jam and shirtsthere, within reach of his hand. He even twisted his cruel old lips into asmile. "Me tellum. Me shakeum hand."
He held out his left hand and Casey clasped it soberly, though he wantedto jump up and crack his heels together,--as he confided afterwards. InjunJim laid the blade of his knife across the clasped hands.
"Yo' lie me, yo' die quick. Injun god biteum. Mebby snake. I dunno. Howlong yo' ketchum heap jam, heap shirt?"
Now that he knew the way, Casey had in mind a certain short-cut that wouldsubtract two days from the round trip. He held up his hand, fingersspread, and got up. Then he thought of the threat and added one of hisown.
"I've got a God myself, Jim. You lie about that gold mine and the jam'llchoke yuh to death. You can ask anybody."
Casey went out and straightway packed for the journey. Fate, he toldhimself, was playing partners with him. I don't suppose Casey, even in hismost happy-go-lucky mood, had ever been quite so content with life as whenhe returned to the camp of the tenderfeet for a mule load of jam and silkshirts. Trading an old muzzle-loading shotgun to an Indian chief for thefuture site of a great city could not have seemed more of a bargain in thedays of our forefathers.